CIAN OF THE CHARIOTS

by

WILLIAM H. BABCOCK

"His Right Wheel Struck and Shattered."

CIAN OF THE CHARIOTS: A ROMANCE OF THE DAYS OF ARTHUR EMPEROR OF BRITAIN AND HIS KNIGHTS OF THE ROUND TABLE HOW THEY DELIVERED LONDON AND OVERTHREW THE SAXONS AFTER THE DOWNFALL OF ROMAN BRITAIN [Note to the text]

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PREFACE.

THE most romantic period of English history is surely that chronicled by Geoffrey of Monmouth, sung by Alfred Tennyson, put into modern story by Sidney Lanier, and told in pictures by Abbey--the days of the knightly and royal Arthur of Britain. To ascertain, as nearly as may be, the real truth of that time, and embody a typical part of it in the guise of modern fiction, has been the labor of years, that has finally found expression by the writer in this romance of love and valor--the story of Prince Cian of the mistletoe crest, Cian of the Chariots. That it may make more real the deeds of that remote and misty time when the last wave of Roman occupation was receding from Britain, when, between Rome and barbarism, between Christianity and heathendom, stood only the conquering sword of that splendid knight of the Round Table and the Holy Grail, Arthur the Emperor, is the hope of the author, who here presents the old tale in modern dress for modern readers. It was a stirring and pivotal time. In The Two

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Lost Centuries of Britain we read: "The true story of the Arthurian campaigns would seem to be this. At the same time with the grand assault of Cerdic at Netley, or in the confusion following the death of Ambrose, the northern Saxons came crowding down. Arthur, issuing from Caer Lerion (formerly Ratae, now Leicester), met their army as it crossed the valley of the Glem; drove it back to the mouth of that stream, and there inflicted on the shore of the Wash a defeat whereby men chiefly remembered the campaign. The Saxons may have taken to their boats and escaped him by sea. One result of his victory was the relief of Caer-lud-coit (Lindom, Lincoln), which had long been standing isolated beyond the true border. No doubt the uplands of Lincolnshire were regained. "At the west the border-line had been carried back to the Mersey. Chester was in danger. The young general went to its relief; took the offensive; pressed the Saxons northward to the Duglas, and struck them a severe blow near Wigan. Perhaps for the time he drove them from the little valley. "But they returned in greater force the next season, and the next, and the next. The bone of contention was there, in spite of indecisive victory, until at last he was able to drive them bodily north as far as Westmoreland. A final success on the Pesa made a complete clearance of all that region.

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"But the Deirans of York were unbroken as yet, although beaten back along both lines of approach. They invented a third, by way of surprise, and fell into a trap, whence, by all accounts, none issued alive and free. Hardly any event made a deeper impress on the minds of that generation than this total overthrow in the haunted wood of Celidon. "Now the scene moves to the southward. At this time Arthur may first have been formally invested with the supreme command throughout Britain. As Guledig, or Imperator, what a claim London must have had upon him; the most renowned of all his cities, though fallen into decay; the most recalcitrant, and thus in need of conciliation; the most endangered, so requiring aid. He found her with the enemy before the walls, the irrational hope of superstition in her heart." Our story opens after the battle of the Pesa or Bassa, and while both sides were gathering their forces, and beginning to move toward that still more decisive encounter in the wood of Celidon. Arthur, already Emperor, has sent Cian and Llywarch as envoys to summon the aid of the semi-independent city. All else that is needful will reveal itself as the story goes on.

WILLIAM H. BABCOCK. ROCK HAVEN, NEAR GEORGETOWN, March 12, 1898.

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CONTENTS

CHAPTER

I. CIAN TO THE RESCUE 9 II. WITH THE GUARD OF THE GATE 23 III. THE FIGHT BEFORE THE SHRINE 35 IV. THE RETURN TO THE VILLA 45 V. A DIP INTO OLD ROME 52 VI. THE HOME OF AURELIA 57 VII. FEAST AND SONG 72 VIII. LONDON AND LONDON'S COUNCIL 78 IX. THE EMPEROR AND THE QUEEN 98 X. A VISIT TO THE SWORD OF FIRE 104 XI. THE PERPLEXITY OF ARTHUR AND THE MISSION OF OISIN 120 XII. ARTHUR WITH LANCELOT AND GUINEVERE 125 XIII. FOREBODING AND DANGER 133 XIV. THE CONFLICT AT THE LAKE VILLAGE 140 XV. LONDON BEFORE THE STORM 150 XVI. AN INTERVIEW WITH THE DEAD 162 XVII. THE FIRST SERVICE OF THE CHARIOTS 172 XVIII. THE MIRTHFULNESS OF GUINEVERE 181 XIX.. ARTHUR AT LEGIOLUM 190 XX. IN THE VALES OF ARGOED 195 XXI. A RIDE THROUGH THE SAXON-WASTED LAND 202 XXII. AMONG THE CAVE-DWELLERS OF THE SCAUR 208

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XXIII. THE RIDE TO ISURIUM AND A WILDER RIDE HOME-WARD 224 XXIV. FROM LOIDIS TO LEGIOLUM 241 XXV. ARTHUR IN COUNCIL 248 XXVI. IN THE FOREST OF CELIDON 255 XXVII. A PASSAGE AT ARMS BETWEEN LANCELOT AND VORTIMER 260 XXVIII. THE NIGHT BATTLE OF THE GREAT WOOD 271 XXIX. THE BLOWING OF THE ELFIN HORN 279 XXX. THE DEATH OF AN ARMY 286 XXXI. THE TOKEN OF OISIN AND THE MARCH TO LONDON 292 XXXII. BROUGHT TO THE LIGHT 299 XXXIII. HOW ARTHUR AND CIAN RAISED THE SIEGE 309 XXXIV. THE MYSTERIES OF MONA 330 XXXV. HOW ARTHUR DEALT WITH THE HEATHEN 338 XXXVI.. THE FIERY TRIAL OF CIAN 345 XXXVII. AURELIA AT CAMELOT 352 XXXVIII. HOW SANAWG WAS THE SUMMONER OF CIAN 357 XXXIX. THE LONG BATTLE OF CAMELOT 362 XL. HOW CIAN SAVED ARTHUR FROM CERDIC 377 XLI. ALL WELL ENDED 390

IT was but a dismal home-journey to Aurelia, notwithstanding the great joy of rescue, and though they spared her whatever they could. There were no sounds to distress her, for the Saxons had been put beyond moaning, and the wounded Britons borne tenderly away; but along that hard-fought road, which was rarely more than a mere path or cartway, the dead of either side were strewn. Hide-bound forms of the populace, and sons of wealthy houses in glittering mail, encumbered the shallows of the Lea. Roman-trained mercenaries, iron fellows of the Teuton borderland, with teeth yet locked together and blades held forward, lay where Osburn had led them again and again, up the eastward slope, ever stabbing at the face, until at last with those insistent points he bore a way over and through. They were very grim relics to her in the light of that wintry sunrise. She paused on the London side with a backward

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look, wistful and faintly shivering. Silence fell on her companions. The face of Osburn darkened with returning blame. "We have many dead," he reiterated slowly. "We cannot spare so many." Cian saw her under lip quiver, and it stirred him. "It is the part of a man to die for his queen," said he. "Doubtless--where she is queening." "Ask any one who fought there. How could her bearing have been more queenly?" Osburn bowed with gravity. "Undoubtedly a hot fight, well fought--which never needed fighting. Is that queen-craft?" "You presume too far," began Cian angrily; but Aurelia interposed. "I cannot blame Osburn," she said; "and if I could, I would not, after what he has done for me. Nor will I blame myself unduly. I was on my proper errand, with good intent; and I am well assured that the Sword of Fire would have found occasion before long if I had stayed or gone elsewhere. For what truth was in him had wholly turned to falseness. My danger might have come where Prince Cian could not so fatally have trapped them. But I will not serve again as a marsh-decoy if I can help it." "Your majesty is very right!" answered Osburn, with slow emphasis. "Yet it was the hardest cuff

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Eschwine has taken. Mere luck saved him, to sting again--if we let him get ready." "But Eschwine is in neutral territory." "No Saxon is neutral," exclaimed Tigernach. Osburn grunted assent. "We should strike all who harbor him, and talk about neutrality afterward." Aurelia smiled, shaking her head, and looked at Cian. "It might be fairer," he admitted, "to ascertain first whether they intend to come with him against us." "You don't doubt it," answered Osburn. "Fooling is dangerous." "We might try an embassy to Aesc of West Kent," Aurelia suggested. "An embassy to the wolf's teeth!" growled Osburn. "I know the cut of them. The two fiends are cousins." Cian considered. "I feel with you," said he. "Yet we may be wrong. But if we could keep this down to a fight with Essex! We need risk no man. There is the prisoner." Osburn and Tigernach muttered something with black looks. But when they were again in London and in council, Aurelia sent for the youth. He came between guards, with a fair show of nimbleness, both in wit and form. Bright colors in stripes bound his legs from foot to knee. His tunic

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--he had lost his mantle--was of scarlet, broidered with tattered gold. All this gayety of garb had been dimmed by swamp service. His head was bare and sunny. His right arm hung in a sling. "What is your name?" Aurelia inquired graciously. "Wulfhelm," returned the lad, with a bow. "Wulfhelm, Wulfnoth, Wulfgang, Wulf!" muttered Tigernach distastefully. "Show me a Saxon name without the wolf in it." "Better wolves than sheep!" retorted the Saxon. Aurelia looked at the woodland chief with offended eyes. Then, turning to her prisoner, she said gently, "Wolves would have slain you." "True. I owe my life to the boar's head." He bowed toward Cian. "I will leave you to him," said she, with a smile. Cian had not thought his cognizance known so far, and the allusion pleased him. "What I need of you is very simple," he said. "Ask the King of West Kent for me--'Is it peace or war?' If you will do this, you are free." "To join the Sword of Fire?" "What you will." Within the half-hour he was away. "If they kill him for the inquiry, at least it will not be one of our own people," said Osburn. "Let us make ready to fight--in case the answer should be `Peace.'"

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While he busied himself in and about the city, Cian was given charge of all the northern and eastern country to and beyond Caer Collin, where he made his headquarters. Chariots began to grow plentiful, even to be a jest. Not a smith nor wagon-maker but was overdriven with work on them. His late signal triumph answered all murmuring. Truly it had been won where scythes and wheels could never be of much avail. But there was plenty of firm open land for them. Osburn had already begun to obstruct the river with barriers. Wulfhelm was back very speedily, with the answer "Peace," and left again hurriedly. But there were more disquieting tales through other channels, and the work of making ready went on. It was too late to do more. Daily the population of London grew, as the few remaining people of exposed places flocked in at the urgent call of their queen. For she had begun to dread lest she had brought ruin on some of her friends by persistence in untimely scruple. There was a little stir of trade in the shops again, as provisions came from far corners of the outer country, and mouths which must eat them. There was a stir of labor also, both in strengthening the defences and bringing disused homes into some kind of life and service again. The houses yet intact were mostly

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crowded. Many tented families occupied in part the belt between these and the walls; and others lay about near their fires in the open air or under any rude shelter. The Celtic and pagan element of the cruder sort had been re-enforced beyond any other. Its manifestations of grotesque faith and fervor were disquieting. The dread silent watcher of the White Hill--dead but sleepless--was more than ever a power among men, but the power of a palsy. The victory in the marsh, that made Oisin's people chant so loudly, did not turn the tide. It was too plainly the rescue of one who had been quite safe while within the wall and the promise. How grievous, too, were the losses that followed her escapade! This current of feeling disturbed Aurelia. Her amplitude ef vision and contact with many beliefs had not wholly freed her from a fantasy born in the blood. Sometimes, when weary, she seemed to feel eyes on her out of that august burial-place; and though such fancies might be resolutely put by, the legend haunted her memory. "Sylvia," said she, in a lonely hour, after many trying things, "what am I ever to do with all these people?" "Send for papa!" was the natural child-answer. Aurelia petted her, but did not look exhilarated.

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"He is busy elsewhere," she replied. "No, my dear, our papa cannot come." Sylvia gazed at her with the huge responsibility of tender years called on for a decision. Presently it came abruptly: "Aurelia, send for Prince Cian." At that name the queen sister put her involuntarily away; then, seeing in the little counsellor those lip-quiverings which precede the tears of pain, Aurelia folded the ringlets very close to her, exclaiming: "I did not mean to be unkind." "But why?" began the pretty wondering mouth and eyes together, uptilted from their nest. "Oh, never mind, never mind!" and a soft hand pressed the sunny head down again. A low laugh followed, with an echo of self-impatience in it. Presently Aurelia said, with complimentary gravity, "I think so highly of your advice, my dear, that I am going to do just as you have said. And that is more than I always do for our wisest old men. Even our good bishop," she added meditatively. "He isn't a 'good bishop,"' declared the child, with emphasis. "Why do you say so?" "He talks against Prince Cian." "Ah!" Aurelia found herself admitting this in evidence. But she answered very justly, "They don't agree, you know. And when people don't agree they misjudge."

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"I don't like him," persisted Sylvia. "Besides, he hates our Holy One, the sacred Head. He hates Vran!" "Why child; what do you know of Him?"--smiling at this echoed earnestness. "Just what so many people say. What you have told me, sister." "I--oh, I have told you many things. As an old tale, not for certain truth." Sylvia pondered dubiously. "Anyway," said she, "I think it's very good of him to keep watch for us. And such a long, long time! Just think! And only a head to him! It must be very lonesome, Aurelia." "Would you like to see it and talk to it, then?" Aurelia blamed herself for the question before she had done asking it. Sylvia sprang up and off with a gasp, looking about her and trembling. "No!" she cried, with a stamp of her foot, half-petulant, half-terrified. "There, there," said Aurelia soothingly. "I see the most fervent partisans of the great Vran are even more so at a distance. I must own I think him rather a frightful defender. But you wouldn't be afraid to talk with--Prince Cian?" "No," demurely; "I love Cian." "Oh, you do!" said Aurelia. "Why?" "Because he is good--and kind. And he kills the wolves and the Saxons."

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"So does Oisin. Didn't you hear how he made the people knock Eschwine into the lake?" "Yes," judicially, "I love Oisin too." "What, that little croaking rook of a man!" "Yes, I do." "But he doesn't like Vran." "I don't care," with another glance around. "Don't you love Oisin?" "I like him, and trust him, and prize him." "Don't you love Cian, Aurelia?" "I like him, and trust him, and prize him, too. Sylvia, don't you love Osburn and Vortimer and the great Emperor?" Sylvia reflected. All items but one were passed by in her slow answer. "The great Emperor Arthur was like the sun, when he rode in his armor up the northern road," she said. "I was very glad to look at him. But he is too far away." This lingered in Aurelia's mind with something, perhaps, of that comfort which we find in a spokesman raised up for us unexpectedly. Both of these notably strong and picturesque men had been in her thought and her fancy, and the child had spoken. Yet, when Cian came hurrying to her presence, he was received only with an elaborate presentation of affairs. For the moment he would gladly have been back at Colchester. He took himself to task after the manner of the

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disconcerted. Beyond question, the queen had good right to send for him when needed; nor would he loiter by the way if thus summoned again. Ay, Cian--yet hardly would that coming be with the same stir and thrill of expectancy, a star-gleam going on before. But soon she passed to matters of more intimate disquiet--those eyes of fire that verily burned through black night out of the blacker hillside; the frenzied processions winding upward in the moonlight, imploring an answer. "Did they really hear anything?" he inquired. "A thunder of words in tongues unknown. The sound came to me even here. It makes the votaries more assured, more darkling, more uplifted." Cian looked grave. He could not feel so sure of the redoubtable obstructive dead, as of wonders which belonged to the common faith of all elder Britain. Yet, true or false, it was a very disturbing feature of local lore and pride. "I will see and hear to-night," he answered at last. "Oh!" and she put her hand forward dissuasively; then added, with quiet self-command, "If it seems best to you." That let the sunshine through. Surely he was, at least, a little more to her than a mere engine of war and pillar of the state. His look, going beyond his

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will, told her of what he saw and felt, and her face warmed again. But before either spoke, word was brought of the presence of the Saxon whom they had freed. "Let him enter," said Aurelia, surmising urgent tidings; but Cian fancied a touch of resigned vexation in her tone. When Wulfhelm appeared, the marks of wild unresting haste were apparent all over his new and brave attire. He had indeed come fast and far, and sighed with relief, as one who could not hold his course much longer. "I thought never to be here again," he said. "But since my word was `Peace,' your destruction unarmed would weigh on me more than death." Cian took his hand and pressed it. "So they are coming," said he. "From everywhere--the town of the Cantwara, the wet Merscwara country, the walled isles of the sea, and the valleys of the Darent and the Medway. Both Kents and all Essex. They will strike at the heart, hoping to catch you asleep. And that very soon. They look for rain and mire to clog your wheeling scythe-devils." Cian bowed to the compliment. "So they hope to see my chariots mud-locked at Colchester?" "That is their hope. I brought word there, found you gone, and followed."

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Cian looked him over. "Will not Eschwine carve the blood eagle on you for this?" A shiver passed through the young man's frame. He made no answer. "Oh, stay with us! you shall have what you will," cried Aurelia. He glanced at her haughtily, softening to indulgence, but answered nothing. "We will neither tempt you nor hold you," said Cian. "But Cerdic is as good a Saxon as Eschwine, with a greater name, and hates him no less than I." The face of Wulfhelm brightened. "Will you send me to Cerdic?" inquired he. "Surely. That is over little for all your peril and kindness. My letter to him may aid you. He knows of Cian Gwenclan. Sooner or later, with him, you will be made happy in fighting against us. And now I pray you to await me below, for we must see Osburn." At the door Wulfhelm turned again, and came back with extended hand. "It is not only for the life that you have given me," said he. "But you have not asked me to change my soul,--to become a Briton." "A fine compliment!" quoth Cian; but he seized on the hand with kind eyes. But what he saw in those of Aurelia drove the Frank and the Saxon together out of his mind.